Lately it’s been feeling more and more like I’m becoming a real life, grown up, adult. I mean, in the most obvious way, it appears that with the recent birthday and what not, I can’t help myself from getting older and older. Yes. Birthdays. Technical aging. But it really hits me when I catch myself doing things like voluntarily cleaning out the trunk of my car. Or wondering if I should try out a gluten free diet for a couple weeks to see if my quality of life improves. Or AJAXing the sink when I walk past it and it looks sort of dirty. Or even the thought of considering buying a dehumidifier because I don’t want the damp humidity of our creeky house to ruin the hard wood floors– I mean, the thought of that even crossing my mind might as well be followed up by “but, I can’t hit Target right now because I have to go pick up the kids from soccer practice in 20.” I mean, I’m 21 for goodness sakes! I should be worried about like… nail polish colors and existential crisis of self and boys and mixed drinks. I don’t know! Ok, one of those might apply. (Spoiler: It’s not boys.)
And, this may sound very odd, but it also feels a bit like I’m losing my funny. Or rather, not that I’m necessarily less funny (because, let’s face it, I am just truly through and through a hilarious person), but that life is just getting more and more serious. It’s been in the air this year– a preoccupied thoughtfulness that has no real origin or root, but is a seeping thickness over life day in and day out.
Maybe I’m just not eating enough iron.
Anyway, this whole thing really came to a head today when I finally packed up my childhood in the most official way by changing my primary e-mail account from the jr. high-tastic (and well known and well loved) “juliagulia924” to “juliapatton924.” I know. So mature. So professional. So boring. Yes, the “924” is still a little unnecessary, but plain old “juliapatton” or “jpatton” or the über nerdy “julia_patton” were all taken, so the “924” will remain a silent passenger for now. And as much as it pains me to let go of the always hilarious conversation starter e-mail that I chose at the wise old age of 13, I can’t, in good faith, expect any future employer to hire any future Julia with any sort of contact information referencing an Adam Sandler movie. It just won’t happen. It shouldn’t happen.
So, today I ate a bunch of Oreos to make myself feel reckless again. All it gave me was a stomach ache. So, I popped a few Tums that I had on hand.
And with that last sentence, I prove my entire point.